I don't think he remembers, but somehow, I do. These days, I'm very forgetful – I'll leave the apartment and have to turn back around in 15 seconds to check if I've locked the door. Did I unplug the coffee maker? What about the hot-air brush? One day, I left my bedroom light on all day until I returned at 11PM and thought someone had broken in.

There are moments that still have a home in my memory bank, some things that don't ever leave no matter how many things I've been forgetting lately: from the places we watched the sunset to the places we argued until our lungs couldn't take it anymore.

Every step through this town is familiar, but perhaps it's only familiar to me because that night is printed in permanent ink – a special honor reserved for the most emotional and gut-wrenching moments, like the stoop on 33rd or the night it poured. And walking through it all – the paintings on the coffee shop wall, the view of the silhouette of the trees against the open sky – now reminds me of what it feels like to be in my early 20s with the feelings of a teenager.

You'd think it would make me sad. In some ways, it does. But it's been awhile since I've felt anything close to this, and so I'll take the sadness along with the rush of being infatuated with the present, even if the present feels a lot like the past.